


and i won’t let you out of my life

by SiderumInCaelo



Category: Elementary (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode: s07e13 Their Last Bow, Gen, Hugs, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Male-Female Friendship, Mentions of Cancer, Missing Scene, discussion of suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-22
Updated: 2019-08-22
Packaged: 2020-09-24 09:22:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20356141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SiderumInCaelo/pseuds/SiderumInCaelo
Summary: The night before her first chemotherapy session, Joan can’t sleep.





	and i won’t let you out of my life

**Author's Note:**

> The title is taken from the song "Distance" by Elijah Newman, which played at the end of "All My Exes Live in Essex" (season 4, episode 4).
> 
> The discussion of suicide is brief and mostly hypothetical.

The night before her first chemotherapy session, Joan can’t sleep.

She alternates tossing and turning with staring at the ceiling, trying to focus on phrases like _discovered early_ and _high remission rate_, trying to remember how much faith she’d put in medicine as a doctor, but it doesn’t help. Eventually, lying there sleeplessly starts to feel like being trapped, so she rolls out of bed and treads down the stairs.

She’s not surprised when she sees Sherlock is also up, sitting on the couch and examining papers strewn on the table in the dim light. He looks up as she approaches.

“Up late too, huh?” she asks as she sits next to him, pulling her feet up onto the couch.

“Tidying up some loose strings from Norway,” he explains, gesturing at the paper. “You?”

She hunches her shoulders, suddenly feeling cold. “Couldn’t sleep, I guess,” she says, fiddling with the hem of her shirt. “I’m scared,” she adds when he doesn’t respond, then immediately feels silly. She starts chemotherapy tomorrow, so of course she’s scared. It goes without saying. 

And, indeed, she hasn’t said it before now. Most of the people who know about her cancer diagnosis are people who have to know – her doctors, her assistant, Arthur’s babysitter – people separated by a veil of professionalism. The only others who know are Marcus and Gregson, and she’s tried so hard to act unruffled, under control, lest they worry even more.

(She knows she should tell her family, but… it’s always easier not to. Dad and Oren have enough on their plates with Mom’s dementia. Maybe a few years ago she would have told Lin, but contact between them has grown limited – it was so hard for Joan to be around people who wanted to talk about how she was coping with Sherlock’s supposed death.)

She expects Sherlock to tell her she doesn’t need to be scared, that she’ll be fine, in a tone so fervent that she’d know he was trying to convince himself as much her. But when he speaks, he takes a different tack.

“I’d be surprised if you weren’t scared. I’m scared too,” he says, and Joan looks up at him, because she didn’t expect that kind of admission.

“But your fear – my fear – isn’t smarter than your doctors,” he continues. “It doesn’t know something they don’t. It doesn’t mean you won’t be fine.”

It’s what she’s been trying to tell herself all evening, really, but it’s easier to believe coming from Sherlock. Or maybe it’s just easier to believe when she’s not alone.

“Thanks,” she says softly.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” he asks.

“Just what you’re already doing,” she says with a small smile. “Being here,” she clarifies, when he looks confused.

She expects him to smile back, but instead he just looks at her, and she swears she sees guilt cross his face.

“Sherlock?” she prods.

He hesitates before speaking. “Something… happened, when I was away. I didn’t tell you about it before, but since I’m staying you – you should know.”

“You relapsed,” she says. It’s not even a question.

“Overdosed, to be precise. I came to in hospital. Doctors said I was lucky to live.” He doesn’t meet her eyes. 

That he relapsed isn’t a surprise. Addicts relapse, as she’d told Sherlock after Alistair died, and of course she’d worried about it when Sherlock was gone, especially once he’d stopped communicating. But to learn that he’d almost died, thousands of miles away and without her even knowing…

And there’s a question she has to ask, as difficult as it is. 

“Was the overdose intentional?”

Sherlock is silent for a moment, his face unreadable. “You’re asking if it was a suicide attempt,” he says, his voice flat.

Joan nods, not trusting her own voice.

“I didn’t shoot up hoping to die,” he says, “but the amount of heroin I used… I suppose it would constitute a reckless disregard for my own life.”

Joan bites her lip, her eyes prickling. It’s not the worst answer he could have given, but it’s upsetting all the same. She reaches out and covers his hand with her own, remembering doing the same after Sherlock had stabbed Moran. This time, though, Sherlock turns his hand and squeezes back. 

“You should've come back,” she finds herself saying. “When you felt yourself slipping or after you relapsed. You were insistent that you’d come back if I needed you; you should’ve known it went the other way, too.”

“I almost did,” Sherlock admits. “But that was when I got your letter saying your adoption had gone through, and all I could think was that if I came back to New York I might still relapse, even overdose again, and that time it might be your son who found me. I couldn’t bear the thought, so…” he trails off.

“So you stopped writing,” she finishes.

“I’m sorry.” It’s rare to get an apology from Sherlock, let alone one so heartfelt, but here it is.

“I worried about you a lot when you did that, you know. But I understand, now.”

“I could still relapse,” Sherlock says. “I have a better support system here than in Europe, yes, but I still might.

“I’m not leaving,” he adds quickly, correctly anticipating Joan’s objection. “But I would understand if you wanted me to live elsewhere.”

“Sherlock, no,” Joan responds instantly. “This is your home.”

“It’s yours too, and Arthur’s. If my presence is a concern –”

Joan cuts him off. “It’s _our_ home,” she insists. “Why do you think I didn’t change your room? You belong here. I want you here.”

“Then I’ll stay here,” Sherlock says, and Joan lets out a breath in relief.

“I should go back to bed, try to get some sleep before tomorrow,” Joan says. “But before I go, I thought of something you could do to help.”

Sherlock quirks an eyebrow up in question.

“Give me a hug?” she asks.

He doesn’t move at first, and Joan worries she’s overstepped. Sherlock may be slightly more demonstrative than when she met him, but he’s still particular about physical contact. 

She’s about to take back her request when Sherlock shifts and opens his arms, the invitation clear as anything, and she takes it.

He holds her for several long moments, and she listens to the sound of his heartbeat. Finally she pulls away, stands, and walks to the stairs.

“Good night, Sherlock,” she says as she climbs.

“Good night, Watson,” he answers, and she smiles.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm so sad there's no new episode tonight. Or ever.


End file.
